


Good for the Soul

by allyndra



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Confessional smut, set sometime in May 2008 (John Paul and Kieron were in a relationship, Kieron was still with the church). Written for hull1984.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good for the Soul

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

Kieron started upright on his bench. He hadn't heard anyone enter the confessional, but he could see glimpses of John Paul's familiar face through the screen between them. He whispered, almost hissing, "What are you doing here?"

John Paul didn't answer. "It's been a very long time since my last confession," he said instead. He licked his lips, and Kieron was fascinated by the way the dim light in the tiny space seemed to dwell on John Paul's mouth.

Kieron should demand that he leave. He cleared his throat. "What is your sin?" He was such a fool.

John Paul's smile was more triumphant than smug. "I've had impure thoughts about a man." He didn't sound the slightest bit penitent.

"Just about _one_ man?" Kieron asked. He attempted to sound disinterested, but it didn't come off well.

"Just the one," John Paul confirmed. "But my thoughts are _very_ impure."

In a normal confession, this was the part where Kieron was meant to prompt John Paul into expressing his repentance. He ought to caution him against future sin and assign penance, as he had for hundreds of parishioners in the past. But all that came out when he opened his mouth was a husky, "Oh?"

"Yeah." John Paul ducked his head and lowered his voice, so that Kieron had to strain to hear him. "I think about meeting him at the door when he comes home. His flatmate's out, so we could go to the bedroom or the sofa, but I press him back against the door instead."

"He's taller than me. Just enough that I have to pull his head down to kiss him." Kieron had a sudden sense memory of John Paul's hands on his face, fingers splayed from temple to jaw. More than the press of his lips or the slide of his tongue, the way John Paul clung to him when they kissed made him feel wanted. Needed.

Kieron blinked in the dimness of the confessional and wished he could see John Paul more clearly. There was one patch of light just at his left eye, limning the lashes in gold, and one from the corner of his mouth to his rounded, stubborn chin.

"I couldn't grow a beard if I tried," John Paul said, a chuckle clear in his voice at the idea, and Kieron was suddenly, deeply glad that they had laughter between them. That despite the secrecy, they could tease and joke and enjoy each other. "But he could, and I like the way his stubble feels when I kiss his jaw. It's rough, right down his throat. I don't get to smooth skin until just above his dog collar, and I pull that off." John Paul lifted his head and stared at Kieron through the gaps in the screen, surprisingly intent. "It gets in the way."

"Yes," Kieron said hoarsely. "I imagine it's meant to."

"I unbutton his shirt slowly," John Paul said. He was still staring at Kieron, his chin raised defensively, and Kieron wondered if he'd expected the reminder of Kieron's vocation to put a stop to this little recitation. As if the confessional around them wasn't reminder enough.

"I'm not a tease," John Paul told him. "But we have to rush so often. I like to take my time. So I touch each bit of his chest as his shirt comes off. He fits me," John Paul said. The defensiveness was fading, but he kept his eyes on Kieron. "The way his body curves, it fits right against my hands. D'you think that means anything?"

Kieron swallowed. "It must do," he said. "It has to mean something." Because he'd felt it, too, the way they fit together. He'd not had that before, with anyone he'd dated before he'd entered the seminary.

John Paul smiled, looking far too young and innocent for the subject at hand. "When I get to his trousers, he's already hard. I can feel it through the fabric. It makes me feel …" he bit his lip. "I feel sexy knowing he wants me."

Kieron pressed a hand against his cock, hot and hard without John Paul laying a hand on him. That was so often the case. He had to concentrate on _not_ getting hard in the Dog when he saw John Paul drinking a bottle of lager. Or in the McQueens' kitchen when he licked jam from his finger. Or sometimes in the middle of the village, when there was nothing suggestive going on at all, but the sunlight hit John Paul's face just so.

"I always want you," Kieron said honestly.

John Paul's eyes flickered shut for a moment, and when he looked at Kieron again, they were dark, with just a rim of blue showing. "I unzip his trousers and slide my hand inside, and when I pull his dick out, it feels warm and alive. I go to my knees, and he groans."

Kieron did groan. He closed his eyes and silently considered what he was doing, what he was risking. But just then John Paul drew a ragged breath, and Kieron gave in. He unzipped his trousers and freed his cock, stroking it roughly.

"Kieron? Are you? Oh, yeah. Like that. It looks just like that when I'm kneeling there. The head is red and wet, and I lick it before I suck it in. It fills up my mouth, pressing down against my tongue and up against the roof of my mouth. I pull my lips tight around it and go down as far as I can." Which wasn't all that far, actually, but Kieron wasn't about to complain. John Paul was good at working his hand around the shaft below his mouth and stroking as he sucked. Besides, he rather liked that John Paul hadn't been with many men. Kieron tightened his fist round his cock and let his eyes slit open just enough to make out John Paul's shape through the screen.

"His hands are on my shoulders," John Paul said. "They feel big and strong, and I know he could hold me there if he wanted. But he doesn't, and I know he won't, and it makes me feel safe. So I suck harder, and I press with my tongue right below the head."

Kieron's hips were lurching upwards, tiny little thrusts into his own hand. In his mind it was the wet heat of John Paul's mouth surrounding him, no matter that John Paul's voice in his ear reminded him that that wasn't possible.

"He's about to come. He always makes this grunting noise, like he can't hold it back." And that's when Kieron lost it. Because John Paul paid attention to the way he looked and felt and sounded, and Kieron couldn't know that and keep control of himself. He came, the noise he'd never noticed himself making ripping from his throat, guttural and desperate. He had just the presence of mind to cup his hand over his cock, catching the mess before it could spatter on his clothes.

"I've almost gotten to the point where I like the taste of come," John Paul said meditatively. Kieron opened his eyes to stare at him. Laughter bubbled up inside of him, making him gasp and grin as he stared at John Paul incredulously.

"Have you?" he asked, struggling to get himself under control. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket awkwardly, only able to use one hand.

"I have. I reckon it'll get better with practice."

"If you get much better, I may not survive it," Kieron told him.

"Well, then," John Paul said. The play of shadows on his face made him look particularly devious. "Next time will be your turn."

"Next time? John Paul ..." But John Paul was slipping out of the confessional, leaving Kieron's protest hanging in the air.

Kieron tucked himself away and put the folded, somewhat spoilt handkerchief into his pocket. The confessional was tight around him, but it suddenly felt very empty. He felt ... lost. He'd never done anything like that before, and it left him unmoored. He'd thought he could keep this thing with John Paul separate from his calling, but now he knew better. He considered saying the rosary or a dozen Hail Marys as penance, but he wasn't that much of a hypocrite.

He wasn't sorry.


End file.
